


Oh, how the Lights Glow

by A_chaotic_person



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Celebrations, Drabble, Fluff, Gen, Hanukkah, Holidays, Jewish Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27994074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_chaotic_person/pseuds/A_chaotic_person
Summary: It's nice to be home for the holidays.
Relationships: Ben Parker & Peter Parker, Ben Parker/May Parker (Spider-Man), May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Oh, how the Lights Glow

Peter had always liked Hanukkah. Maybe it was just a remnant of being young and having Ben’s steady hands over his, guiding his clumsy fingers to light the menorah, but the holiday just brought with it a feeling of niceness. Coziness.

His first Hanukkah at Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s had been confusing. Now, in his first year of University, he couldn’t remember what it had been like with his parents, but six-year-old him hadn’t ever seen a Christmas tree in the house he lived in. His mom had been pretty atheist and was content to partake in his dad’s Jewish traditions, so he’d never celebrated Christmas. Aunt May had been raised protestant, and though she wasn’t very religious she liked the warmth of the holiday, so when he moved in with her and Ben they celebrated Hanukkah and Christmas—though Hanukkah was the one they celebrated for religion. Christmas was just for fun.

Uncle Ben had said, voice warm and rough like weathered stone statues that sat out in the sun, that he liked the Christmas tree, and the fairy lights they strung about the roof of the house. “Hanukkah is our festival of lights, Peter,” he’d told him when he asked why Ben they celebrated Christmas too. “Even when we’re all celebrating different things, it’s nice to see the world lit up together.”

Peter thought maybe that’s why Ben hadn’t wanted to move out of the city. He’d heard one whispered conversation between him and May about it once, but Ben flat out refused to leave the city that never sleeps. Whether that was the real reason or not, Peter couldn’t imagine Ben moving away from a place filled with so much light.

So the house was decorated every year without fail, lights on the roof and the tree—a fake one that would last them ages and wouldn’t shed needles everywhere—both glimmering with yellow-white light. Personally though, Peter had thought the shiny brass menorah was the nicest piece they put up. It was simple and bold, like Ben himself, who had received it years ago at his bar mitzvah. When he was eight, Peter had been impressed at how clean it was.

Now, it was with great fondness that Peter set it up on a little table draped in blue cloth by the window. Ben had impressed upon Peter that the menorah looks out the window, to share light and Jewish culture with everyone who could see it. In the house they hadn’t had a windowsill wide enough to sit the menorah on, so Ben made a table just big enough for it and that was that. When Peter and May had moved to an apartment after Ben’s death, they couldn’t put up lights about the roof, and the space they made for the tree every year didn’t look out the window, but if one could look up three stories (or if one climbed walls), Ben’s menorah twinkled out at the streets of Queens.

Something sizzled in the kitchen, and Peter inhaled the scent of potatoes and onions frying. He was _so_ glad Aunt May had the hang of making latkes now. There’d been a rough few years where Peter and May had scrambled to make acceptable latkes after Ben’s death, and they often turned out blackened or had so many onions they made his newly-enhanced senses scream. Now the food came out almost perfectly fried, and they managed to stay clear of the hot oil.

He wandered into the kitchen, past his bags tossed on the couch—still unpacked—to lean on May. This was the first year since he started University that he was able to be home in time for the first day of Hanukkah, and he’d barely made it. The sun would set soon and the first candle would be lit. He helped May finish the latkes, and moved them to a stack on a large plate. He covered them with a clean towel to preserve their warmth until they could eat them, already salivating at the thought of eating the crisp food by the light of the first candle.

May was ready by the menorah, helper candle— _shamash_ —in hand. When she leaned down to light the candle to the farthest right, the flame illuminated her face in warm orange, glinting off her glasses and the few gray strands in her hair—she called them her “sparkle hairs.” After Ben died there had been an awkward moment in which neither of them knew who was supposed to light the candles now that he was gone. May had thought Peter should do it, since she wasn’t technically Jewish, but Peter had refused. May was the head of the house, so May lit the candles and said the blessings.

“Blessed are you, Lord our G-d…”

The _shamash_ was placed in its holder, and the latkes called to Peter. It was Thursday, so they were free to hang around the menorah and bask in each other’s company instead of preparing for shabbat. May told him about her charity work, and he told her about his exams. They shoveled latkes into their mouths like they’d been deprived of good food the whole year, and foil wrappers from chocolate coins were carelessly scattered around the room without either of them noticing.

Within an hour the first candle had extinguished, and there was no need to relight it. Warm from good food and May’s presence, Peter drifted off on her shoulder like he was nine again and worn out from holiday excitement. They’d never given gifts to each other on Hanukkah, rather, they exchanged gifts on Christmas because May liked to, but on Tuesday, the sixth day of Hanukkah, they would go out and begin the tradition of helping at soup kitchens and putting in extra work at May’s charity. On the seventh day of Hanukkah Ned would be invited over and he’d surely bring with him a basket of fresh fruit and flat bread, something his mom had sent over yearly since eighth grade.

(Hopefully they’d have enough _gelt_ —the chocolate coins—leftover to spin the dreidel with him. Ben had been a bit grumpy about the dreidel, and how it was _technically_ derived from a German game rather than being purely Jewish, but he’d always agreed to play with Peter.)

For now though, it was nice to do nothing but watch lights dance behind his eyelids and absorb the feeling of being home and loved and _well_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Happy Hanukkah everyone! I just wanted to write some holiday fluff, so here it is! I'm not Jewish, and I had a great time researching Hanukkah. That said, if anyone who is Jewish wants to correct me on any of this portrayal, let me know so I can edit it or take it down completely if need be!


End file.
